


La Mort De Gavroche

by J_E_McCormickGal



Category: Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Gen, OFCA!verse, musical!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 08:27:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_E_McCormickGal/pseuds/J_E_McCormickGal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Child though I may seem to you, I am man enough. So, stop despairing. I am not a boy shot on the streets; I am a brother who has died on these barricades! It is by my own doing that I am killed, but I do not mind. We cannot win every time." The death of Gavroche, based on the song from the Original French Concept Album.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Mort De Gavroche

**Author's Note:**

> I based this on the song from the Original French Concept Album, and so shares the same title. In this version, it seems Gavroche was shot putting the flag back up (that seems to be the way to die in Les Mis) and so he’s still on the side of the barricades with the Amis, and he talks to them somewhat. Some of the speech and the character choice is taken from the song but a lot of it just a bit of rambling for Gavvie.  
> You should go and look at the song, and get a translation of the words, and then this should make sense next to it.

“ _Révolution française!!”_

**_BANG!_ **

Gavroche yelled in pain and scrambled for the other side of the barricade, red blossoming at a tear through the chest of his shirt. Marius pulled him over, and for a moment he was struck with how he had done the same for Eponine mere hours ago.

The young boy stumbled and fell, ending up caught and cradled by Grantaire. His face was scrunched up in pain, and he kicked a few times, but soon regained himself. The worried murmurs of the _Amis_ as they gathered around him were soft and horrified in tone.

“Mon Dieu...”

“How could they?”

“Careful not to hurt him.”

Gavroche chuckled dryly from where he lay, resting in Grantaire’s arms, one hand pressed firmly to his chest.

“Now now, gents.” He spoke. “I am not fragile pottery. C’est moi, Gavroche!” he spread his arms in a grand gesture, only to cry out and instantly clamp a fist back to his wound. Still, he brushed it off, laughing quietly again.

“You know, I sure hope I don’t end up wherever Javert is – how miserable would _éternité_ be, forever being chased by a policeman!”

Although his tone held jest, it was somewhat sobered by the pure acceptance the boy had. How could one so young seems so cheerful in the face of death?

“Yet still you joke and laugh, Gavroche!” Courfeyrac exclaimed. “Now, don’t talk, and rest – we will do our best for you.” He gestured over his shoulder to Joly, and the medical student crept hesitantly closer.

“To patch me up? No chance, mates – I feel it, and no matter what you try it will not help. Leave me be, I’ll be alright.” Gavroche told him, shaking his head.

“Mais-”

“Mais rien, mon ami. When death comes, it comes. You feel it in your bones and you know nothing can stop it. Wasting valuable supplies on a hopeless case will get you nowhere.  It will not help anyone.” Gavroche’s voice had an odd ring of sternness which made Courfeyrac recoil and bow his head.

“Bastards, how could they – a child, they’ve shot a child and killed him before his days!” Marius growled, pacing a small distance away. Gavroche’s seriousness turned to him.

“Child though I may seem to you, I am man enough. So, stop despairing. I am not a boy shot on the streets; I am a brother who has died on these barricades!” And with this firm statement, it seemed Marius’s fury dissolved into sadness.

“But you should not be! You should be a brother who lives freely. You should not die here.” He said softly. “Besides, how is it that you were shot; what were you doing on the dangerous side of the barricades?”

“The flag had fallen, our symbol of what is right being trampled in the dirt as if shamed. I ran to right it, and was spotted. He saw I was a child, and told them not to shoot – ‘Let him live!’ he cried. But I just shouted back at him, ‘ _Révolution française!!’_ – and they shot. It is by my own doing that I am killed, but I do not mind. We cannot win every time.” Gavroche smiled and coughed a bit, but did nothing but wince slightly and rearrange himself.

“That said, I may move on.” And Gavroche’s eyes were misted slightly as his life slipped from between his fingers.

“You all know my sister; she hangs about regularly. I am sure I caught a glimpse of her near here, she is probably around somewhere still.” Gavroche did not seem to remember that neither he nor Eponine had ever told _Les Amis_ of their relation, so continued. “You mustn’t let her know. Should she come here now, she would scold me, oh, for being such a stupid boy and being at such a dangerous place. Ha, I could say to her, and so speaks you.”

He chuckled and coughed softly again.

“However, she is not here at present, and so it must be assured that she knows nothing of this – in her best interest you understand, of course. It would make her weep to know I’ve died, and Messieurs, you do not want that. It is a perfectly wretched sight when she cries. She must smile. She may not be outstanding on the outside, I know, but when she smiles she actually becomes rather pretty. So, you see, she must smile, and you must assure she does, oui, Messieurs?”

The surrounding men were thoroughly confused, as Gavroche had managed to continue this entire discourse without ever enlightening them on the name of this mysterious Sister of Gavroche. One amongst them, however, knew, and Marius’ breath caught to think how Eponine had forbid him from telling her brother of her own death. As such, Gavroche still assumed his sister alive, and concerned himself after her. So the youthful man stepped forward to assure him.

“I am sure she is smiling at wherever she is, and will continue to.” He murmured. Gavroche grinned.

“Ah, her Monsieur Marius. You will be certain to keep her happy, won’t you?”

“I will wish her happiness, from myself and you, sent from wherever you may be on your 'youthful travels'.” Marius smiled kindly, gently, and sadness seeped in through his eyes.

“It will make her happiest for you to say such a thing. You have no idea, Marius, no idea.” Gavroche told him.

“I think I might.”

“Well then, ami, you make sure to do so. I will count on you.” Gavroche murmured, and this time his coughing spattered blood on his hand. He grimaced and his eyes widened just slightly, and a spark of fear shone in them, quickly washed away.

“And so he approaches faster...” he said softly. Grantaire tightened his embrace gingerly, and Courfeyrac grasped his hand in reassurance.

And suddenly sombreness came to Gavroche and his cheerful smile faded to seriousness. He pulled the cap from his head, exposing his dirty chestnut hair, curled and ruffled and untamed, dampened slightly by sweat and blood, and presented it to the nearest student, and said quietly.

“Take my cap and give it to my friends – it’s all I have that I will no longer need.” He said, pressing the cap into what he thought must be Courfeyrac’s hands. “There are two boys at my home, and they will need someone to look out for them, and let them have my cap.”

No-one knew of Gavroche’s bedding in the elephant’s belly, and no-one would find the boys – not even Marius could fulfil this wish, for even if he had found the elephant, the children would be long gone from it.

This sorted, Gavroche seemed again happy, even if his vision was unfocused and his words slurring.

“It has been nice to know you, _amis_ , and better amis no-one could have. Perhaps I’ll see you again. But it seems the theatre is closing, and the curtain will come down soon. At any rate, goodnight.”

With his ever-more laboured breaths, Gavroche summoned voice enough to sing.

“ _Je suis... tombe par terre..._  
C’est la...faute a Voltaire  
Le nez...dan le...ruisseau  
C’est la... faute a...”

The final line was never finished, for Gavroche’s last breath sighed from his lips and his body went limp, never again to jump and run and sport its childish energy.

Gavroche was dead.


End file.
